


Oui, Chef!

by pateshie



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-13
Updated: 2014-02-13
Packaged: 2018-01-12 06:33:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1183009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pateshie/pseuds/pateshie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Levi is a Michelin-starred chef and owner of the restaurant Trost. Eren is the well-meaning but not-so-effective kitchen hand who might like his idol a little too much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oui, Chef!

“Are you kidding me?” The chef growls and Eren cowers, terrified. It’s ironic considering he’s the one with a knife.

 

“What did I say?” He takes a step closer and Eren can feel the heat from the stove prickle through his worn out t-shirt. “Remind me, Jaeger.”

 

“T-to chop the cucumbers,” he stammers out.

 

Levi throws his hands in the air. “Chop, he says! Chop like any old brute with a knife, like any coarse farmer’s kitchen.”

 

There’s a snicker from around the freezer. Kirstein no doubt.

 

“I’m sorr–”

 

Levi holds up a palm. “Stop. Petra, will you please teach Monsieur Jaeger here how to julienne the cucumbers?”

 

“Yes, chef!”

 

“Thank you, Petra.”

 

The petite blonde hurries over as the chef walks away, not sparing him another glance.

 

“I thought it was French for chop,” Eren pleads his case as she comes within earshot. She wipes her hands on her apron and fixes him with a sympathetic look

 

“Oh, Eren.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

“And it turns out,” Eren rambles, “that it’s just a fancy word for cutting shit fine and long. Like why can’t he just say it as it is? God, he is insufferable.”

 

“Eren, I have class,” Armin pleads.

 

“What the hell, Armin, do you want me to pop a vessel? I need to relax and it’s not exactly like I can roll one on the job.”

 

There’s a loud squeak from the other end of the line. “Eren, don’t do that, they might kick you out!”

 

“God, ‘Min, I’m not.” Eren rolls his eyes. “I’m just trying to explain why I need you to listen to me I hold forth on what a douchebag my boss is.”

“Oh.” There’s a moment of silence in which Armin is lost in thought and Eren watches a few lone snowflakes spiral down to him. One settles on his wrist and he licks it off.

 

“Well, I’m sure he’s not that bad,” Armin pipes up, ever the optimist. “I remember how excited you were to work under him!”

 

“That was before I found out he’s a douchebag.” Eren sighs.

 

“Remember when you spent an entire day watching videos of just his hands making stuff?” Armin giggles.

 

“I hate you.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

“This is tonight’s menu,” Levi says. The chalkboard is immaculately black except for where his elegant handwriting scrawls across it. “We will begin with a chicken consommé, followed by the saumon tartare and, lastly, a home-style chicken fricassee.”

 

“Yes, chef!” the kitchen choruses. Eren doesn’t join in, unwilling to attract attention to himself. It doesn’t work. The chef’s eyes rove over the counters, past the shelves and right to the very back, where he is.

 

“Jaeger, perhaps you would like to sit this one out?” No one says a word, their eyes shamelessly moving from the oldest to the youngest and then back. Levi smirks and turns his attention to the proposed selection of desserts.

 

“No, chef,” Eren says loudly.

 

A heel scuffs on the floor. There’s a gasp to his left.

 

“No?” Levi repeats softly. “Why ever not? Do you really think you could keep up?”

 

“I doubt it,” Eren admits. “After all I have only been here a week. But I wouldn’t like to give up without trying.” His eyes are dying to escape the stormy judgment of Levi’s but he keeps them steady. He has too much pride to be treated like this.

 

“Well,” Levi says, “Monsieur Jaeger, what is it you would you like to do?”

 

“I would like to julienne some cucumbers.”

 

“There are none on the menu,” Levi says dryly. “But since you are so eager to prove yourself, feel free to help Kirstein dust the chocolate croissants. Now let’s go over the sweets.”

 

 

 

 

 

“Fucking hell.”

 

“Likewise.” Jean scowls. “I can’t believe I got stuck with you. I’ve been here for eight months now! I’m better than this.”

 

“Likewise,” Eren parrots.  He’s not. The finely powdered sugar is landing everywhere but the croissant. It’s in his hair, on the tip of his nose – some has even managed to get under his shirt. On the other side of the station Jean is dusting it over a row of pastries with an expert flourish. His wrist is steady and his sugar even. With his face furrowed handsomely with concentration, he’s everything Eren wants to be.

 

He can’t believe he just thought that.

 

His groan attracts Jean’s attention.

 

“Tougher than it looks, huh, Jaeger?” he says with a smug smile.

 

“Yes.” Eren returns the smile. “And dumber too. Do you seriously get paid to daintily sprinkle sugar over someone else’s hardwork?”

 

It’s worth it to watch the way Jean’s hand squeezes too hard and a big blot of sugar farts out onto the croissant.

 

 

 

 

 

 

There are 120 croissants to be dusted. Jean gets called away after 40 to help strain the consommé. Eren is considerably slower but he likes working alone. When he licks his lips, they taste of sugar and he smiles down at the row of croissants that are sparkling like the snow outside.

 

“Enjoying yourself?”

 

Eren looks up to see Chef Hange watching him. He’s second in command only to Levi, a tall, eccentric fellow renowned for his gastronomic experiments. Some of the more peculiar combinations on their menu come from him, like the braised cauliflower in white chocolate jus. On most days he and Levi will bicker till knives have been raised and lids have been banged. Secretly Eren thinks that is the reason why the food at Trost is so spectacular – between the two of them they make sure it never gets boring.

 

“Yeah.” He rubs the back of his neck, wincing at the trail of stickiness it leaves.

 

Hange laughs. “This sugar is a bit clingier than most, isn’t it? It’s from Morocco, I picked it out myself. It powders so beautifully.” He sighs raptuorously. “But that’s not what I am here to tell you. Levi said you’re on clean up duty tonight.”

 

“That’s fine. It’s my fourth night, I’m an old hand now.” Eren laughs half-heartedly.

 

Hange shakes his head. “I’m sorry, kid. Hang in there, alright? Levi’s a little overprotective of his precious little kitchen but he’ll come around.”

 

Eren shrugs. When he had first cooked for Petra, he had been ectastic. Just being in this kitchen was a huge honor. To his surprise she had loved his bouillabaisse and, from what she told him, so had Levi and Hange. Trost has a Michelin star so he wasn’t expecting to breeze through his time here but it had made him hopeful.

 

He’s too lost in his thoughts to return the smart salute Hange shoots him before wandering off.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Levi is infamous in the industry for his exhaustive list of rules. Under his watch, Trost opens for only a few hours a day and serves lunch longer than it serves dinner. The last order of the day is taken at 10:00PM sharp and not a watch stroke later because Levi considers it improper to eat so long after the sun has set.

 

That’s why by the time Eren has powdered and put away the croissants, the kitchen is an empty, almost forlorn little thing. The light falls in pools of warm amber and the floor is spotted with the day’s menu. Most of the stations are clean but some are clamoring for his attention. Jean’s looks like it exists solely to spite him.

 

He begins by putting a thick carp over the rinsed dishes so they could stay safe till the washing staff came in at sunrise. After that he begins to trace a circle, traipsing between counters, returning everything to its place. On his first night he’d been a tad more complacent and suffered more than a tad for it. Levi is equally infamous for his cleanliness.

 

Each morning he would trace every inch of his kitchen with a spotless white glove. The lightest blemish has been known to have the direst of consequences.

 

He’s returning a stray radish to the produce box when the door swings open. It surprises him and he bumps his head on the shelf above with a hiss.

 

It’s Chef Levi. In this light, the circles under his eyes look even more menacing. Eren gives him a small nod and quickly returns to his work.

 

“Do you want some coffee?” Levi’s deep voice asks. “Don’t look so surprised, I’m just being polite.”

 

The truth is Eren’s foot fell asleep twenty minutes ago.

 

“I would love some,” he says sincerely.

 

“No need to piss yourself,” Levi mutters. He must have been in the office because he’s not in his uniform, as Eren is used to seeing him, but in a neatly pressed shirt and a pair of tan chinos. His shoes shine brighter than the counter top and Eren desperately hopes that’s not the way he sees it.

 

Eren makes himself busy in the background as Levi puts some water to boil. They cross each other in silence, the older ambling over to fetch the coffee beans and Eren’s arms stacked with clean chopping boards.

 

 _Oh_ , Eren thinks, looking down. _These boards are why I’m here in the first place._

He thinks he must be dreaming when he hears Levi say, “Petra told me you julienned the peppers well.”

 

 “I, I tried my best.”

 

Levi nods. They cross each other again.

 

The water on the stove begins to bubble and Levi gives it a few seconds before tossing in two big spoonfuls of ground coffee. The kitchen fills with their aroma and Eren takes it in, the familiarity loosening the knots in his back.

 

“Come here and tell me how you like yours,” Levi orders and he puts the broom down a second after he had picked it up.

 

“Yes, chef.” 

 

He hovers a few steps from Levi, close but not too close.

 

“Milk?”

 

“Yes, chef.”

 

“Blasphemous,” Levi mutters and Eren bites back a laugh. “How much?”

 

“Just a teaspoon or two.”

 

Snapping the stove shut, Levi lifts the pan and pours the coffee into two small cups. The movement makes his sleeve shift, revealing the pale wrists Eren loves so much. They’re what he always imagined a real chef’s would look like – elegant but strong, like a work of art. He’s never been this close to them and for a few seconds, he forgets all his tiredness and all he can remember is forcing Mikasa to play restaurant until she begged him to let her go. It would kill him to lose a dream he’s nurtured for ten years in a week.

 

“Here.”

 

The smell of coffee grows stronger and Eren snaps back to the present, taking his cup from Levi. The older man, as predicted, is having his black. He sips it with a garbled, contented little sound.

 

“Do you taste that, brat? There isn’t a soul finer than this coffee in this entire town. No one as refined, no one with as much taste.”

 

Eren thinks it’s good but not that good. He keeps shut and takes another long gulp. It warms him up from the inside and already some of the drowsiness has lifted from his mind.

 

“Chef,” he says hesitantly. “I really am sorry.”

 

“It’s fine.” Levi returns to sipping his coffee and Eren drops his gaze to the floor again, freezing when he feels a cold finger swipe across his forehead.

 

“You have sugar on your face.” Levi laughs and Eren thinks it’s the best thing he’s heard all week.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The next morning however:

 

“Why do the croissants look like the Snow Queen threw up on them?”

 

“Huh?”

 

“The croissants, Jaeger,” Levi repeats. He looks ready to kill Eren.

 

“I don’t think they’re that bad, Levi,” Hange says cheerfully, biting into one. “I kind of like how it makes them taste less like fluffy cardboard.”

 

Eren has never prayed before but he wonders if he should start now as Levi slowly rounds on Hange.

 

“What did you say, you shitty four-eyes?”

 

“I said your croissants taste like leftovers from Mary Antoinette’s kitchen and Eren might have actually done them a favour.”

 

“Sacrilege!” Levi growls. “Both of you. You’ve no taste. There is simply no other explanation.”

 

“God, he is such a drama queen,” Hange says with a roll of his eyes after Levi has stalked off. Eren fights back a laugh. “Hey, you don’t mind if I have another one, do you?”

 

“Absolutely not.” Eren holds out the tray. “Bon appetit!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Have you heard?” Connie says, twirling his hat in his hands. His hair is cut close to his scalp, his way of dealing with their “hot as balls” kitchen.

 

“Did Sasha eat all the potatoes again?” Eren grins.

 

“No but that’ll probably happen soon too.” Connie’s voice drops to a whisper. “Word is there’s a critic coming.”

 

“So?” Eren frowns. “Trost is the best restaurant for miles around.”

 

“But it’s not just any critic. A critic for La Figaro.”

 

“A French critic.” Eren’s eyes widen as realization draws. It’s no secret that, as a second-generation immigrant, Levi is deeply insecure about his Frenchness.

 

“Exactly.” Connie nods. “It’s going to be a rough few weeks, Eren, my friend.”

 

As if it can hear them, a gush of wind whistles through the air. Eren shivers and pulls his scarf tighter.

 

“Some winter we’re having,” Connie mutters. He takes one last drag of his cigarette before dropping it to the ground. “Come on, let’s go in before we’re snowmen.”

 

Eren follows him, the warmth of the kitchen greeting him like an old friend. He hooks his scarf on the back of the door and heads to the back sink to wash his hands. There’s a figure hunched over it, completely still even as the water runs on.

 

“Uh, chef?”

 

“Yes, Jaeger?” Levi looks up, the gush of cold, clear water flowing seamlessly over his wrists, washing away at the ink of his veins.

 

Eren holds his hands up as explanation and Levi startles. He snaps the tap shut and moves aside with a distracted, “Yes, of course. Good habit.”

 

It’s more of a rule but Eren lets that slide. Levi looks strangely flustered – human almost. He squirts a dollop of soap on his palm and lathers it all over.

 

“Chef,” he starts conversationally, “I think you should put me on clean up duty for this month. I really like being in the kitchen and I think I’m getting quite alright at it.”

 

“Are you sure?” Levi stares at him.

 

Eren nods earnestly.

 

“Well, thanks I guess.”

 

“No problem, chief.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Stop it!”

 

“Come on, Eren, it’s just a potato.” Sasha rolls her eyes and takes another bite. She doesn’t even peel or season them, Eren doesn’t understand the appeal at all. He’s still watching her, half-fascinated, half-repulsed when a spoon bangs loudly against a pot.

 

“Attention, minions!” Hange yells, brandishing his makeshift gong. “This is a critic alert! As you little gossips have no doubt heard, there’s a writer from La Figaro coming. This is a big deal because that’s the magazine Levi jerks off t– ouch, alright, I’m sorry!” Eren can’t help laughing. Levi looks so short and angry. “Long story shot, best behavior for the next few weeks, alright? We’re guessing the critic will be dining here sometime in the next ten days. I don’t want one mediocre dish to go out in that time.”

 

“That means you, Jaeger,” Levi says and everyone laughs. The air of nervousness is broken and Eren lets it slide. “No, but seriously, cook like your life depends on it, each and every one of you, because I have plenty of knives and I’m not afraid to use them.” He claps his palms smartly. “Back to work now!”

 

 _More like back to potato_ , Eren thinks watching Sasha dig in all over again.

 

 

 

 

 

That night service is light. The snow is thick outside and most people are draped around their fireplaces, their hands curled inside their sleeves. Eren’s are wrapped tight along the broom handle. Earphones jammed deep and scarf snug, he sweeps vigorously in time to his favorite song.

 

The floor is shining by the time he’s done and he dips the broom in his arms for a kiss.

 

“C'est beau, mon cher!” he whispers passionately.

 

“Il est en effet,” a voice behind him says and he drops the broom with an embarrassed shriek.

 

Levi laughs. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist.”

 

Eren just stares at him, too mortified to say anything, until he notices that Levi isn’t taking his apron off – he’s putting it on.

 

“You’re going to cook now?!”

 

Levi stares at him. “Yes, why?”

 

“It’s almost midnight!”

 

“It’s quiet.” Levi shrugs.

 

He’s never going to get a chance like this again.

 

“D-do you mind if I stay?” he says, his fingers crossed behind his back.

 

“If you keep singing off key like that? Yes.”

 

“Oh.” Eren bites his lip. “Sorry.”

 

“I’m joking, Jaeger. You can stay.”

 

He waits for Levi to turn around before breaking into a smile.

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Salt,” Levi barks, palm outstretched.

 

“Yes, chef!”

 

Somehow over the past hour Eren has become Levi’s personal assistant, darting across the kitchen to fetch him the things he needs while he frowns at the pot of gently bubbling something. The recipe looks like nothing Eren recognizes and he’s a little surprised when he realizes that Levi, much like them lesser mortals, is improvising.

 

He tips a few grains out, eyebrows furrowed deep and stirs the soup. It simmers in protest as he lifts a ladleful up and out.

 

“Taste,” he orders.

 

Eren eyes it hesitantly. He’s not in the mood to burn his tongue.

 

“God, you’re such a child,” the older man mutters and sticks the boiling spoonful in his mouth like its nothing. He holds it there for a second before swallowing, a dissatisfied look creeping across his face. “It’s horrible.”

 

“I’m sure that’s not true?”

 

“Real convincing, Jaeger.” Levi rolls his eyes. “Stop staring at me and go get the white pepper. I promise I won’t cry while you’re gone.”

 

Eren scampers off, his cheeks warm.

 

 

 

 

 

 

It becomes something of a ritual, meeting Levi in the kitchen around the stroke of midnight. On some days Eren sweeps slower, cleans gentler, sticks around just to see his idol cook.

 

Somehow his nights trickle into his days till even watching Levi wash leeks leaves him breathless.

 

“You are so whipped, Jaeger.” Jean snickers.

 

Eren tears his gaze away reluctantly and throws him a dirty look. “More and better than your frosting, that’s for sure.”

 

“Whatever.” Jean scowls. “At least I’m not staring into space wishing my dick was a leek.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

It happens during lunch service.

 

“Parsley! Eren? Eren! Yes, you, God. Get me some parsley, quickly!”

 

“Yes, chef!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

“What did you do?” Sasha probes on their next smoke break. “It’s like, like he almost likes you.”

 

“Have you seriously not seen how much he sucks up to Chef? It’s disgusting.” Jean pulls a face.

 

“Congratulations, you look even more like a horse.”

 

“Shut up, Jaeger.”

 

“Seriously, Eren, tell us!” Connie slaps his arm. “We could all use some help with how anal he is these days.”

 

“He’s just worried,” Eren defends, a bit too quick and Jean looks at him like he’s grown another head.

 

“I thought you were on our side.”           

 

Eren rolls his eyes. “There are no sides, idiot. Don’t you need Trost to do well too?”

 

“Yeah but I’m not the who stays here till 3AM hoping to catch the exact moment a wave of genius will strike our head chef. That’s you. The intern.”

 

“That just means I have even more to lose,” Eren explains calmly. To be honest, past his thick winter coat, neatly pressed apron and borrowed shirt, his heart is drumming a bit too loud.

 

The fresh snow muffles it and, a few more drags later, they file back through the door in companionable silence – all of them none the wiser and Eren just a little bit more foolish for that.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Eren once read that everybody is small at night.

 

But he never really understood what it meant until this moment right now, watching the way Levi blinks the sleep out of his eyes and leans against the counter like it’s an old friend.

 

“You should go home,” he says.

 

“No.” Levi looks up. “I have stuff to do, but you should go.”

 

Eren shakes his head and they return to their work in silence. The sweep of the rough broom on the stone floor is deafening but Levi doesn’t seem to mind. He hums to himself softly while he slices some duck. Eren pokes the broom under the fridge and jiggles it around.

 

“Fuck,” Levi yelps and the handle drops from Eren’s hands as he rushes over to him.

 

There’s blood running down Levi’s finger and he doesn’t think twice before sticking it in his mouth, the skin dragging along his teeth when Levi pulls it out, a shocked look on his face.

 

“What are you doing?!”

 

“Spit is antiseptic,” Eren explains. He can taste Levi’s blood on his tongue.

 

“Spit is disgusting,” Levi hisses. He whips around and a single drop splashes on the ground. Eren is still staring at it when he walks out the door.

 

Something just happened but he isn’t sure what.

 

 

 

 

 

Things are weird the next day.

 

Levi walks in seven minutes late, the shadows under his eyes dark and foreboding. His apron is straining across his chest, he’s tied it so tight. His shoulders are rigid and his voice is cold as he takes a quick round.

 

“Kirstein, your cream looks like pigeon shit. Make it again. Sasha, I will cut every potato you eat from your salary this month so watch it. Where are the fucking lobsters? Did I or did I not ask you lot to go get some yeste–”

 

The heavy kitchen door creaks open and cuts his tirade short. A slim girl with a hooked nose and big, blue eyes walks in.

 

“Hey,” she says.

 

“Who’s that?” someone whispers.

 

“My savior,” Jean answers and they giggle.

 

“I haven’t forgotten what I was saying,” Levi says menacingly before turning to the girl. “Annie Leonhart! I’m sorry you had to see that. Welcome to Trost.”

 

The girl, Annie, just waves a hand at him and Eren has to duck behind the counter, he cracks up so hard.

 

“Right, so everyone,” Levi clears his throat, “Annie is an experienced chef who will be joining us for a few weeks while she’s in town. She’s worked at some fantastic restaurants and really knows her shit. I hope all of you will take the time to learn from her and also show her how we do things here at Trost.”

 

There’s an incoherent noise of adherence from the kitchen and Levi nods, satisfied.

 

“Back to work now!” He motions Hange over. “Annie, this is my sous-chef, Hange Zoe.”

 

“Yo,” Hange quips.

 

The kitchen is slowly starting up again and a symphony of noises descends over their conversation. Eren gives Annie one last curious look and strolls back to his counter.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The distraction of Annie’s arrival doesn’t last long. Around eleven o’clock Levi bursts out of the pantry, his lips pressed in a tight line.

 

“Who was in there last?” he asks quietly.

 

“I was, Chef, what’s wrong?” Petra says, making her way to the front.

 

“Are you saying you knocked down the last of my bouquet garni, walked all over it and didn’t notice?”

 

The kitchen has gone dead silent. Everyone’s hands are frozen – some in mid air, some in mid stir.

 

“I didn’t. Chef, I am so, so sorry.” Petra wrings a strand of her dirty blonde hair. “Is there anything I can do?

“Unless you’re going to fly to France and get some more from my grandmother, I don’t think so,” Levi snaps.

 

Petra’s hand is quivering as she reaches back to untie her apron. It doesn’t take a genius to guess Levi has never talked to her like this.  “Let me just go and arran–”

 

“There’s no need,” Levi cuts her off. “Just please, for all our sakes, watch where you’re going next time. It’s carelessness like yours that costs us entire days of hard wo – what the fuck are you doing, Jaeger!”

 

Eren tugs harder at Levi’s wrist, willing him to move. He can feel everyone’s eyes on him.

 

“Come on,” he mutters softly. He’s glad for all those free days he spent working out at the gym because a second later he can feel Levi succumb. He drags the older man across the kitchen, grabbing the two heaviest coats slung on the back of the door before taking him outside.

 

“Give me that,” Levi growls, breaking free and snatching one from him. He slips it on quickly. “Are you crazy? Do you think you can just toss me around like some rag doll? I’m your boss, Jaeger!”

 

“You’re more than my boss, okay?” Eren says loudly. “I really look up to you but not, not when you do stuff like that.”

 

Some of the stubborness leaves Levi’s shoulders and he looks so small, swathed in the coat like that.

 

“Follow me,” Eren orders and he’s happy to hear the light footsteps that sound behind him, the crunch of fresh snow.

 

“Slow down and tell me where we’re going, you brat!” Levi tugs at his sleeve.

 

“You’ll find out soon enough,” Eren hums, smiling brightly over his shoulder. A few steps later they round the corner and reach his bike. It gleams black and handsome against the snow and he can’t resist running his hand along the engine.

 

“Isn’t she beautiful?” he says fondly but Levi stays quiet, a wary look in his eyes. Eren rights it and hops on. He pats the seat behind him. “Come on then.”

 

“No way. Not on your life, Jaeger, I will never.” Levi crosses his arms. His nose is red from the cold and he has never looked less threatening. Maybe that’s why Eren just laughs and tugs him closer.

 

“Come on, boss. Just pretend I’m your chauffeur for the day.” Eren slips his helmet on and salutes him.

 

“No wonder your hair is such a mess all the time.” Levi shudders. “But alright, whatever. Just don’t try anything fancy, ok?”

 

“But, Chef, how can I not try to impress my date?” Eren says slyly, making Levi freeze halfway to sitting down. He pinches Eren hard before settling down properly.

 

“Fucking brat.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

The wind is cold and Eren can feel Levi shivering behind him. His heart is doing funny things again, especially at the sharper turns where gravity and fear throw Levi’s arms tight around his waist.

 

He’s almost sorry when they reach Marco’s house. His neighbor isn’t there but the person he really came to see – his grandmother – is.

 

“Marcus isn’t home, Eren!” she says as soon as the door swings open.

 

“I know, Granny Anne, I’m here to see you.” He beams and jumps up the steps  to give her a hug. He lets go and points to the brunette shuffling awkwardly behind them. “This is my friend Levi.”

 

“Nice to meet you, young man!”

 

“Likewise, madam,” Levi says stiffly and Eren snorts.

 

“Granny we’re here because there’s an emergency at the restaurant! Can I invade your kitchen one last time, please?”

 

The short woman reaches up to pull his cheek.

 

“Of course, you silly boy. But shoes off first!”

 

“Yes, of course.” Eren unlaces his thick combat boots, careful not to make a mess. There’s a lot of snow clinging to them. Once he’s satisfied he sets them to the side and bounds inside.

 

She watches him go fondly before something strikes her. “You too, young man, come in to the hall at least. It’s mighty cold today!” 

 

“Thank you,” Levi says, glad to shut the door behind him. The house is wonderfully warm. He can feel his toes again.

 

“Do you work with Eren at the restaurant?” the old woman asks politely.

 

“Um, yes, you could say that.” Levi runs a hand through his snow-damp hair.

 

“How does he do there? Alright, I hope? He was always such a good cook growing up. I swear, he’d never read a line of the recipe but somehow it always turned out perfect.”

 

Levi thinks back to the first afternoon he had tasted Eren’s cooking. “Yes.” He smiles without realizing it. “He’s a lucky boy.”

 

“He’s even luckier to be working at the restaurant,” the woman says earnestly. “It was always his mother’s dream to see him as a chef. I wish she could see him now.”

 

“His mother?” Levi repeats quietly.

 

“Yes, she passed away a few months ago. Cancer is a giant.” She shakes her head. “Carla was a wonderful cook too, you know. Her bouillabaisse was the best I’ve ever had.”

 

“Found it!” Eren yells triumphantly from somewhere in the house, startling Levi. A second later loud footsteps sound in their direction.

 

“No running in the house, Eren!”

 

He skids into the hallway with an impish grin. “Granny, I’m not ten anymore!”

 

“You are to me,” she says sternly. He just laughs and presses a kiss to her soft cheek. Levi lets himself out, feeling strangely out of place. He’s pacing in the driveway, thoughts crowding his head, when Eren walks out.

 

“Here, put these in your pocket,” he says, pressing a small envelope into Levi’s hand.

 

“I’m sorry if I left suddenly. It must have seemed rude.”

 

“I don’t think she even noticed.” Eren smirks. “I’m just that charming, you see.”

 

Levi’s scoff dies in his throat. The sun has chosen that moment to peer out from behind a cloud and it catches in Eren’s eyes like a sunset over the ocean. How has he never noticed them before?

 

“Come on, it’s almost time for lunch service!” Eren rattles the keys in his pocket.

 

“What?” Levi starts. “Oh, God, it’ll be a miracle if the kitchen hasn’t burnt to a crisp yet.”

 

“Oh, ye of little faith.” Eren sighs dramatically. “I’m sure it’s fine but I’ll go a little faster just in case.”

 

“You will do no such thing.” Levi warns.

 

But he’s all bark. This time his arms are wrapped around Eren’s waist even before the engine starts.

 

 

 

 

 

 

It ends with Levi apologizing to Petra but Eren’s little stunt doesn’t go down quietly.

 

“Eren and Levi sitting in a tree,” Bertolt whispers in a sugary voice, “k-i-s-s–”

 

“ _Shut it_.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

“That’s the fourth time he’s dined here this week,” Sasha whispers.

 

“Who?” Connie probes.

 

“The man with the eyebrows.”

 

“The guy who looks like two caterpillars died on his face?” Annie chimes in and Eren snorts. Annie has proved to be the missing ingredient in their kitchen – she’s taut but fun, like a dash of Cuban oregano. It’s a pity her time here is almost up. He still hasn’t figured out a cool way of getting her number yet. He really wants to stay in touch.

 

“So is he the critic then?” Jean snorts. “Not very subtle of him.”

 

“We can’t be sure. Maybe he really likes the food here,” Eren points out.

 

“Food you contributed nothing to.” Jean giggles.

 

“Say that again, horseface, I dare you.”

 

“You couldn’t touch me in your wildest dreams, _kitchen hand_.”

 

“Do you want to bone him or something?” Annie asks casually and Jean ends up choking on his own spit.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Eyebrows is back,” Hange announces. “He’s asking for the chef again. Levi, you can’t avoid him forever.”

 

“But what if he’s the critic?” Levi frets.

 

Eren pretends he needs something from the fridge. It’s the best spot to eavesdrop from.

 

“What if he wants to compliment you?” The other man counters.

 

“Come with me then!”

 

“He’s already talked to me. He wants to meet the one who cooked his meal. Stop being a baby and just go. If you really mess up, I’ll go after him, alright?”

 

Levi nods slowly and makes his way to the front.

 

Eren puts his imaginary bread in his imaginary basket and walks back to Petra’s counter.

 

 

 

 

 

 

He’s so engrossed in the mystery of the may-or-may-not-be critic, he completely forgets today is the day he completes a month at the restaurant. It strikes him only when Levi asks him to come to his office after lunch service. Most of the staff has scattered by then, eager for a break before dinner prep starts.

 

Levi is leaning against the window when Eren walks in.

 

“You called for me?”

 

“Yes.” He points to an envelope on his desk. “You’ve done well, Jaeger.”

 

Eren stays where he is. “But… all I did was clean?”

 

Levi laughs lightly. “Really? Because I can remember you doing a hell lot more. Go on, take it before I change my mind.”

 

Eren scurries over to the desk and grabs the envelope. His fingers are tight and proud around it.

 

“Thank you, chef!”

 

“No proble-em.” Levi yawns. “Fuck, I need a nap. I nicked too much food today.”

 

Eren know it’s a subtle way of asking him to leave but he’s really curious and he can’t help but ask, “So was that man a critic?”

 

“What man?” Levi rubs his eyes.

 

“Eyebrow man.”

 

“Oh. Um, no.” Either the sun has decided to set an hour early or – no, there’s no way Levi is blushing.

 

“Who was he then?” Eren presses.

 

“Just a customer.”

 

“Just customers don’t eat at a restaurant nine days in a row.”

 

“God, Jaeger, you are one annoying brat. He wasn’t coming here for the food, alright, he was coming here for me. He asked me out.”

 

Eren gapes at him. “Are you serious?” Levi has always been vocal about his sexuality – particularly about the affair in Paris that inspired him to become a chef – in the few interviews he’s given. The pictures were rather nice too.

 

“Surprise, kid, old people have feelings too,” Levi says dryly, one finger tracing the wristband of his watch.

 

Eren’s heart splutters like his bike the morning after a really bad storm. “So you said yes?”

 

“Nah, I’m not really into the stalker type.”

 

“What type are you into?” Eren asks quietly and Levi’s head snaps up.

 

“Eren,” he warns.

 

“What?”

 

“Fuck, kid, don’t joke around like that. I’ll take your salary back.” It’s a weak threat and they both know it.

 

“I never came here for the money,” Eren says softly. “It was always about you.” He takes a step forward, the thoughts that have been keeping him up rushing out all at once. “I didn’t realize it but now that I think about it… of course I liked you. I tried to pass it off as admiration but I’m so fucking comfortable around you. Even when you’re trying to make me miserable, all you do is make me happy.”

 

“Eren, you should g–”

 

“No!” Eren doesn’t stop till he’s in front of the older man. “I know you feel it too,” he insists. “I’ve seen the way you’ve been looking at me. Something is different.” He bumps their fingers together. “You gave me a chance when no one else would. I don’t know what I would be doing without you.”

 

“You’re being dramatic again,” Levi murmurs, avoiding his gaze. “You’re a good cook, you know it.”

 

“I’m not.” Eren cups Levi’s chin with his palm. “Look at me and tell me to go. I’ll go for good.”

 

Levi’s fingers curl tight around his wrist. “That’s blackmail.” There’s a second of stalemate where Eren’s hand is trembling against Levi’s skin and they’re just staring at each other in the rapidly fading light.

 

“Fuck it,” Levi growls finally and tugs him forward. He stumbles into the older man’s arms, his heart roaring in triumph when they lock around his waist. “I hate you,” Levi says before pressing their lips together.

 

Eren lets out a moan that sounds as virginal as Levi’s wet kiss and wandering hands are making him feel.

 

Levi laughs against his mouth. “God, I hope you’re of age because that certainly wasn’t.”

 

“Less talk, more tongue,” Eren pants. He waits till Levi is distracted with exploring his mouth before doing something he’s had way too many daydreams about – he slips his hands into Levi’s back pockets and squeezes hard.

 

 

 

 

 

 

(If Levi thinks it’s weird that Eren spends ten minutes just peppering kisses over his hands and wrists, he’s kind enough not to bring it up.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

Working at the restaurant is a lot more fun from that day on. Eren’s new favorite game is counting how many times he can pinch Levi’s butt before someone notices. He tries to keep the displays of affection to a minimum but it’s difficult when he knows what that voice sounds like whispering in his ear (dirty talk is so much sexier in French). Even hearing the list of expired ingredients turns him on.

 

There’s nothing fun about walking around with a boner and Levi would never let them swap spit (“You mean germs.”) in the kitchen. Thankfully the rules that apply to the manager’s room are very, very different.

 

It’s a Sunday and Levi is doing taxes. Eren is draped across hs lap, his too long legs dangling off the edge of the chair, when Hange bursts in.

 

He can feel Levi tense under him.

 

“I can explain,” the older man says.

 

Hange runs a hand wildly through his hair and blinks. “Who cares?!” he shrieks. “The review is out and you’ll never guess who wrote it!” He tosses a magazine on the desk and it falls open onto a rather familiar photograph and the words:

 

**_A Tryst With Trost by Annie Leonhart_ **


End file.
